


So, Two Vulcans Walk Onto the Planet...

by Sarahzile



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:22:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahzile/pseuds/Sarahzile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The adventures of two Vulcan Science Academy legacies who nearly bring about the downfall of Vulcan academia, terrify the occupants of a small town on Earth, and somehow manage to save us all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Galaga

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deadonarrival](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadonarrival/gifts).



“This is... untenable.”

The woman standing before the Director’s desk shifted, visibly uncomfortable.  “Sir, I have never heard you use such strong language.”

The older man leaned back in his chair and sighed.  He was himself alarmed at the sudden, forceful emotions that flooded his system.  Such poor control was to be expected in a young one, but a man of his age should contain himself.  And he was a teacher, no less.  

He should set a good example, he thought, lacing his hands over a paunch that had grown considerably since the first... incident.  Even now, some of the newer instructors were losing control.  In small, nearly imperceptible ways, to be sure.  Take the young woman before him, doing her best to relegate her anxiety to a single facial tic.  But such imperfections were bound to grow into greater flaws until finally, irrevocably, chaos reigned.

“Strong situations call for strong language, Instructor....”

“T’Vau, sir.”

“Yes, T’Vau.  I am sorry that you had to witness my moment of weakness.  I believe this illustrates the severity of the situation.  For the good of all involved, I think it is best that we address this as quickly and thoroughly as possible.  It will be difficult, but I believe that we can accomplish our task with little resistance from the families.”

“I am afraid I do not follow your logic, sir.  How can we attend to this issue without causing great upset to both the families and the Academy itself?”

The director was silent for a moment.  “The solution is most unusual.  Do not let its singular nature alarm you.  Please remember that we are dealing with a singular situation, and that once it is complete, we will hopefully never have to address it again.  Ever.”

Instructor T’Vau lowered her head, clutching her notes perhaps a little too tightly.  “Whatever must be done, sir.  Whatever must be done.”

___

“No, no, no!  You’re doing it all wrong!”

T’Pol crossed his arms.  “You are using contractions again.  It is most unbecoming.”

Crescentia stopped mid-gesture, suddenly horrified.  “Uh... sorry.  I mean, I apologize.  It is... most difficult to control my language when I am excited about... things.”

“Good job.  You might even manage to stay in the next instruction period without being ejected for poor conduct.”

Crescentia’s smile was bright, winning, and totally inappropriate.  T’Pol couldn’t bring himself to correct his partner.  It was a hopeless venture, anyway.

“Anyway,” Crescentia continued.  “How long until we can boot the program?  If you don’t crack the access panel like last time, that is.”

T’Pol looked down at the array of screwdrivers and sonic devices littered at the bottom of the learning bowl.  The panel itself was detached.  “It is open, and only mildly damaged.  I believe we can blame it on the young ones with little trouble.”

“Good, good.  Okay, let’s see what this bowl can do.”

“You really must refrain from using so many human phrases.  I do not believe you can take on many more demerits before they notify your guardians.”

Crescentia laughed, a sound that put T’Pol’s teeth on edge.  “Oh, please,” he said.  “We all know my parents went here.  And so did my grandparents, and my great-grandparents, and all the way back to Surak.  Well, almost.  Yours, too.  Anyway, both of our families are full of very generous alumni.  They wouldn’t dare kick us out.  The school would never finish the new meditation garden.”

“I think we should at least maintain some basic level of decorum.”

“Decorum,” Crescentia snorted.  “This is ironic, coming from a student whose week-long project has been the secret installation of an ancient human game in the learning bowls.”

“Hey, don’t.... do not talk about Galaga in that manner.  It is a classic tactical instruction tool.  Whether or not the humans consider it a game is irrelevant.”

Crescentia shrugged.  He’d been through the argument with T’Pol too many times to start it again.  Instead, he turned and peeked over the edge of the bowl.  “Okay, hardly anyone’s here.  I don’t see any Instructors.  We should be safe.”

T’Pol snapped the instrument panel back into place.  He allowed himself the luxury of a small, barely noticeable smile.  “Excellent.  Shall we begin?”

___

T’Vau walked through the learning hall at an accelerated pace.  It was the end of an exceedingly long day, filled with classes and paperwork.  She was looking forward to a restful evening of meditation, a needed respite before the next day’s work.

She was walking by the fourth row of learning bowls when something caught her eye.  By all rights, the bowls should have been shut down at this point in the day, but she was certain that one was still active.  Had she been less in control of her emotions, she may have sighed.  Still, she must model proper cleanliness.  It would be inappropriate to leave one of the learning areas unattended.  She walked over to the edge of the bowl.

It was most definitely on.  Some sort of language program featuring Federation Standard, perhaps?  She leaned in closer, squinting a bit at the animations.  She really should have her vision checked, she thought, and perhaps brush up on her language skills.  The characters were certainly Federation Standard, but she did not recognize all of the words.

“Ga...la...ga?”  No, even sounded out, it did not appear familiar.  She shook her head.  The stress of recent weeks must be getting to her.  She reached out and shut down the bowl.  Tomorrow, she’d have a look at who had been assigned to the area and have a discussion with them regarding work habits and proper shutdown procedures.

Some students, she thought, needed a little more instruction than others.

___

The next morning was exceedingly hot and dry.  T’Pol made his way across the main courtyard, relishing the weather.  He would have had more time to appreciate it, had it not been for the sound of boots hitting the pavement at a running pace, quickly approaching him.  If he worked hard enough, T’Pol could almost convince himself that it was someone else making their exceedingly loud way towards him.

“Good morning!” gasped Crescentia as he slowed down to T’Pol’s gait.  “Lovely weather!”

“Yes, it was a pleasant morning until you stomped into it.  Will you at least stand up straight?  People are beginning to stare.”

Indeed, several students and Instructors were glancing back over their shoulders at the pair.  A few even shook their heads as they continued away.

Crescentia rolled his eyes.  It was a most alarming expression, no doubt copied from the many human entertainments he had devoured.  Someone should have confiscated his PADD by now, honestly.

“So,” Crescentia continued.  “Did you make the high score after I left last night?”

“Of course.  I exceeded your score with many points to spare.”

“Good, good.”  Crescentia nodded thoughtfully.  “Listen, just a quick question and then I’ll be on my way.  You know, I was about to fall asleep last night when the thought woke me.  I could hardly go back to bed at that point.  Anyway, did you, um... did you hook the game up to our individual bowl?  Or did you maybe, I don’t know, plug it into the main system?”

T’Pol stopped abruptly.  He stared at the ground with great concentration, going over the image of the massive tangle of wire and circuits that had spilled out of the access panel last night.

“I mean, it’s probably nothing.”  Crescentia continued.  “I just woke up this morning and it occurred to me - hey, if we crossed the wires, so to speak, everyone would know -”

“- that we installed an unauthorized program into Academy equipment.”  T’Pol suddenly looked more green than was usual.

“Like I said, probably nothing.”

“Yes, almost certainly.”

“But we should just check it out.”

“Yes.”

“To be sure.”

“We are nothing if we are not thorough.”

T’Pol very nearly began running after Crescentia as they made their way towards the learning hall.

“It’s... huff... probably nothing... no need to worry!”  Crescentia grinned wildly.

“Stop that!  You’re frightening the young ones!”

In fact, the young ones and everyone else gathered at the entrance to the hall weren’t paying the slightest bit of attention.  They were currently entranced by something going on in the vicinity of the learning bowls.  The low murmur of the crowd would have been mildly comforting under different circumstances.

T’Pol felt a falling sensation in his abdomen.  He had never felt this sensation before.  What was it?  Elation?  Curiosity?

Oh.  Fear.  Yes, that was right.  He had read about the emotion somewhere.

They pressed through the crowd.  After a few minutes of pushing bodies aside and murmuring apologies, they reached the epicenter of the attention.

A gaggle of instructors was gathered around one of the learning bowls.  Specifically, their bowl, assigned to the learning pair only two weeks previously.  They milled about, seemingly unsure as to how they should proceed.

“What is the meaning of this disturbance?” boomed an authoritative voice.  The Director appeared on the edge of the bowl.

Crescentia immediately dived behind one of the many potted plants dotting the space.  T’Pol stood out in the open for a moment, too terrified to move until Crescentia reached out and dragged him behind an adjacent plant.  T’Pol turned, about to spit out the various odds of such a plan not working, before he realized that even a stupid plan was better than none at all.  He closed his eyes, wondering if the cringing did any good to hide himself further.

“Sir,” one of the instructors ventured.  “It appears that the program originated from this module.  We are currently debating the best method to remove it.”

The Director regarded the area for a few moments.  A tiny, 8-bit spaceship made its way around the perimeter of the bowl.  “Why have you not decided on the correct procedure, then?”

The instructor tugged at the end of her sleeve.  “It is a most tenacious program, sir.  It seems to have embedded itself into an integral part of the overall operating system.”

“And who was most recently assigned to this bowl?”

The instructor handed a PADD to the Director.  “They should be en route to class, sir.”

The Director stared at the PADD for a long time.

“Sir?” the instructor ventured.

The Director shook his head.  “Clear this room of all non-essential personnel.  Tell all students that they are reassigned to... free study time.  Yes.  Free study will be appropriate.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And as the two students are already here,” he said, gesturing to the plants marginally obscuring T’Pol and Crescentia,  “Please tell them to meet me in my office in fifteen minutes exactly.”

The instructor turned towards the potted palms and the barely-hidden students edging from behind them.  She arched an eyebrow.  “Yes, sir.”

The Director handed the PADD back and turned on his heel towards his office.  He found himself hoping that no one had seen the burgeoning facial tic making its way through his cheek.

___

“So,” the Director began.  “You call it a tactical program.”

T’Pol nodded once.  “Yes, sir.  I believe it would be useful for training purposes.  I realize now that I should have asked permission to install it, but the proliferation of the program was merely an accident.”

The Director nodded.  “I find it interesting that a ‘tactical program’ would have such primitive graphics.  And the use of a scoring system does not hold with the logic of the Vulcan Science Academy.”

“Regarding the graphics, I thought that a simple program would be easiest to test before implementing a program with more serious graphics demands.  And the scoring system was merely a leftover of the ancient program.”

“And does your learning partner have anything to say about this?”

Crescentia, standing straight at attention, shook his head vigorously.

The Director regarded them both for a long time.  The air in the room was suddenly noticeable - heavy, thick, very still.  It was as if each individual was in their own unique capsule, isolated from the other and only able to hear the sound of his own breathing.  T’Pol did not move, but he did follow the Director with his eyes.  The older man had ceased to stare at them and was instead gazing at some point far off in the distance.  He seemed to be meditating.

T’Pol understood that it was a waiting game.  Or not a game, exactly, but a test.  A test of willpower and endurance, one designed to measure the intellectual mettle of a student.  The thought calmed him.  Perhaps if they proved themselves, were studious and appropriately contrite without overdoing it....

“Sir!” blurted Crescentia.

The Director winced.

Actually winced.

T’Pol looked inward and identified his second newfound emotion of the day as empathetic embarrassment.  Here was the Director of the Vulcan Science Academy, one of the most prestigious institutions of learning in the quadrant - even, perhaps, in the entire galaxy - displaying emotion.  It was sudden and raw, painful to watch.  T’Pol hoped, with a kind of wild desperation, that he could learn to light himself on fire with the pure shame of witnessing this.  At the very least, it would be some consolation to see Crescentia engulfed in flames at this moment.

The Director stood up and walked over to the window, hands clasped behind his back.  He stood there, staring out onto the milling students in the plaza below.  

After an excruciating few minutes, the Director looked up and turned on his heel to face them.  T’Pol would not have said that the Director was happy, exactly, but there seemed to be a lightness in his aspect that wasn’t there before.  It was just as unnerving.

“I understand that you two have been study partners for quite some time, correct?”

“...yes,” offered T’Pol.  “Nearly three years now.”  Crescentia was silent, almost certainly forming some inappropriately human facial expression behind T’Pol.

“Of course, of course.  You are quickly approaching your final year here.  Have you two discussed your graduation project?”

T’Pol turned to Crescentia, who only just stopped himself from shrugging.  “I am afraid we have not had the time,” T’Pol said.

The Director nodded.  “You both seem to have some aptitude for studying human culture.  Would you say that this assertion is correct?”

Both nodded.

“Then perhaps you would consider a... oh, what would the humans call it?  An ‘independent study’, I believe?”

“Sir?” ventured Crescentia.

“This would apply to your final project, naturally.  The both of you would conduct a study of human social constructs in a relatively small town, using the early Vulcan philosophers as your theoretical framework.  Of course, you would have to do at least a year of in-depth research....”

Crescentia shifted from one foot to another.  “In a relatively small town?  A small town where, exactly?  Uh, Sir.”

“On Earth, naturally.  There is nothing quite like participant observation.  I think you will find it very enlightening.”

Crescentia nodded slowly.  T’Pol found himself staring at the carpet with great intensity.  

“We will be able to undertake this quite efficiently,” the Director continued.  “There is no point in wasting time.  I trust you can get a proposal together within two days?”

Both nodded, again, too cautious to speak more.

“Good.  This will be an excellent opportunity for both of you.  There really has not been enough research done on human social structure.  Have the proposal ready and on my desk by the end of the week.  I will arrange for your travel and lodging.”

“Sir,” Crescentia said.  “What about the expenses associated with this project?  I was not aware of any credits available for independent research for students of our level.”

The Director paused, almost as if this had not occurred to him.  “Oh, well.... it will be a scholarship.  A scholarship that has only recently been approved by the board.  Do not worry yourself about the expenses.  It is all under my control.  It is merely your job to prepare the proposal and begin assembling what you need for the journey.”

“When will we depart?” Crescentia asked.

“As soon as possible.  By next week, if such arrangements can be made.  With that, gentlemen, I will see you in two days.”  He nodded in the direction of the exit.

Crescentia and T’Pol turned and left through the towering office door.

The Director remained standing after the door was closed.  He allowed himself the extravagance of a sigh.  “I was truly looking forward to paying for that meditation garden,” he said to no one in particular.  He shook his head.

He continued to stand and stare at the door for quite some time.

___

“That went... well?”  Crescentia ventured.

T’Pol shook his head.  “I am not entirely sure what has just occurred.  Did he... did the Director say that we were traveling to Earth?”

“I was hoping I misheard him.”

“So it is true, then.”

Crescentia shrugged and plucked a bunch of hirat fruit off a nearby plant.  He crammed the food into his mouth and chewed contemplatively.  T’Pol looked away.

After a few minutes, Crescentia had devoured enough fruit to clear his mind and take on a more optimistic point of view.  “You know,” he said, the remnants of the fruit not entirely cleared from his mouth.  “It’s not such a bad idea.  See new places, encounter strange new worlds.”

“I don’t know if I would call the planet that gave us Galaga and Burger King a strange new world.”

“Mmm, the king of burgers.  What a delicious place.  We should go get some.”

“There are no such franchises on this planet.  It is too vulgar.  No to mention that burgers are made out of meat.”

Crescentia made a noncommittal noise.  “Anyway, there’s plenty of Burger Kings on Earth.  And it should be a pretty easy project - some general observations glossed over with whatever philosophical claptrap applies.  It’s practically a paid vacation.”

“It does not seem strange to you?  Why would they give us a full scholarship on such short notice?  We did not even write an essay.”

Crescentia shrugged.

“Stop that!”

He dropped his shoulders.  “You know, you’re going to have to practice human mannerisms if we’re going to get anything worth reporting on.  We can’t just march in there with our Academy uniforms and some PADDS and start following people around.  It’ll skew the data.”

“I had not thought of that.  This is truly awful.”

“You’ll have to start with using more contractions.”

___

Preparations were immediate.  They had hardly placed the proposal on the Director’s desk, when they were whisked away to a shuttle, already idling in a departure bay.

“How efficient,” said T’Pol as they were herded into the cabin.  “I thought it typically required a waiting period of at least two days before one could reserve a shuttle.”

Crescentia only nodded distractedly.  It was clear that he was barely listening to T’Pol, and was instead inspecting every potential flaw in the shuttle craft.  “Do you think this weld is appropriate for space travel?” he asked.

“It is sufficient.  Please do not vomit on me during the trip.”

Crescentia continued nodding and pushed himself as far back into his seat as possible.  “Do you know, if there is a breach and we are sucked out into the vacuum of space, that death will be instantaneous but also incredibly painful?”

T’Pol browsed his PADD.  “That is highly unlikely.  At any rate, we are only going to be in transit for about two hours.  After that, we will be traveling by transporter.  You will be in fine health all the way.”

“Don’t you know about transporter accidents?  I don’t want to be merged with you for the rest of my very short life.  Where would all of the arms go?”

T’Pol set down his PADD and turned to Crescentia.  “How... how did you ever manage the class trips offworld?”

“Forged doctor’s notes.  According to the medical records, I’ve had every other disease, affliction, or syndrome known to affect Vulcans.  And a couple of, uh, newly discovered ones.”

T’Pol stared at his study mate.

“You don’t remember the time I stayed up all night painting green spots on my skin?” Crescentia asked.

“I honestly thought that was a performance art project.  I didn’t want to know more.”

“I got two weeks off for those spots.  I was pretty proud of that one, to be honest.  Nice to finally share it with someone.”

T’Pol leaned back into his seat.  “Clearly, you are far more resourceful than I gave you credit for.”

Crescentia brightened.  “Thank you!” he said, then immediately went back to gnawing on his nails.  At least, T’Pol would later reflect, he managed to shut up for the rest of the trip.


	2. Franklin

Franklin had never been to a real ship salvage yard before. He had expected it to be rusty and depressing, but night time had a way of romanticizing things. The dark softened out harsh edges, brought out the sweeping curves of derelict hardware. There were even old-style flickering sodium bulbs along the path, casting yellow circles of light at regular intervals. Of course, LEDs would have been much more efficient and cost effective, not to mention they would have cast better light. Someone had to be exchanging resources to provide for all this energy, right? It felt more like a movie set, as if this were here for his approval. This was, of course, ridiculous. No one goes to all this trouble for a common criminal.

The heavily muscled man to his left stopped before a steel door set in the side of a massive warehouse. He brought up a meaty fist to knock in what was a surprisingly gentle and delicate gesture. 

A man of precise maneuvers, Franklin decided. It was understandable why the Boss would want to surround himself with such people. Sloppiness was hardly a desirable trait, which confused the perpetually clumsy and chaotic Franklin even more. Why call upon someone who couldn’t even rob a convenience store without tripping and breaking his nose on the curb? What could he possibly do that was so important?

Franklin was not exactly a criminal, though neither would he describe himself as an upstanding citizen. He’d done the round of juvenile detention centers and holding cells in the area, all for petty offenses. Nothing serious. Nothing interesting. In fact, he’d managed to stay on a relatively straight and narrow path for the past year or so. He’d taken on a boring job at a local mill and managed to find a suitable apartment. Sometimes, his hands would itch and his mind would go a little fuzzy as he walked by a shop, but he’d keep walking and it would pass. He was, he thought, doing pretty well for himself.

Then this man standing next to him, this meathead, had shown up at his front door a couple hours ago. The man had borne an offer that even Franklin knew not to pass up.

The door swung open, revealing a small woman dressed in work clothes and carrying a clipboard. She leaned to the side to get a better look at Franklin. “This him?”

Meathead nodded.

The look on her face was inscrutable. “Alright, then. Let’s go.” She turned and began walking down the hall.

They wound through a series of dingy halls, Meathead kept an especially close eye on Franklin, though there was nothing of interest in the building, apart from some unusually-shaped water stains near the ceiling. Maybe Franklin was missing something. It wouldn't be the first time, he thought.

They reached a set of metal stairs that led up what was presumably a manager’s office overlooking the empty warehouse. The woman stopped and turned again. “I think we’re good for now. Why don’t you wait for us?” She nodded towards a folding chair at the foot of the stairs. A couple of books were stacked in its seat. “It might be a while,” she said. “I left some of the new books in the series for you.”

Meathead grinned. “I’ll be here when you’re ready,” he said as he thumbed through the pages.

“Don’t skip ahead to the end, you’ll ruin it.” She looked at Franklin. “Okay, come on.”

They went up the clanging stairs. Tthe woman fumbled with a set of keys - another weird detail, Franklin noticed. Who uses keys? Why wasn’t she just using a basic chip system, or even a fingerprint scanner? This was practically stone age technology.  
The woman finally found the right key and opened the door. The office beyond was surprisingly well-appointed, with plush carpet and wall-to-wall bookcases. In the middle of the room sat a massive, hulking desk carved out of dark wood. The woman walked behind it and sat down in the equally massive chair there.

Something clicked in the back of Franklin’s mind. “Oh! You’re... um....”

The woman quirked her eyebrow, almost smiling. “The Boss? Oh dear, I really hope you weren’t playing into antiquated gender norms, were you? We’re practically swimming in lady firefighters and female starship captains, and you can’t conceive of a woman mob boss?”

Franklin decided that it was in his best interest to keep his mouth shut.

She shrugged and reached over the desk to grab a file folder. She settles back into the chair with a sigh, examining the first page. After a couple of minutes, she looked up at Franklin, still standing in front of the closed door. “You can sit down, you know.” She gestured to a chair in front of the desk. “I’m going to need a few minutes to go over this first, though. Sorry, I know it’s a little unprofessional, but we have been fucking swamped the past few days.”  
Franklin sat down in the chair, suppressing the urge to ask more questions. With mob bosses, you never knew. Back in the old, pre-spaceflight days, it was always something fairly innocuous. Booze, guns, drugs, exotic animals. Not exactly safe, but things generally fit within a known set of parameters. 

Now, the advent of warp drives and inter-species contact could mean damn near anything for the black market. He hoped he wasn’t getting into something with a lot of tentacles. The last time that happened had left him with a torn suit jacket and an armful of sucker-shaped bruises that didn’t fade for a month. His love life had suffered even more than usual. 

He tried to keep his mind off the possibilities by looking around the room. There wasn’t much to see. The lighting was low enough that he couldn’t make out the titles on any of the books. All closets and cabinets were neatly closed. There were two doors in the room, including the one they had used to enter the office. The other was on a wall perpendicular to the first door. It was unremarkable - your standard door. Still, he hoped that he would never have to see what was behind it. Ignorance was a precious commodity.

“Well,” said the Boss, setting down her file. “Thanks for waiting. I imagine you want to know why we called you.”

Franklin nodded.

She cracked a grin. “Okay, first. My sources say that you have a particular talent for dealing with extraterrestrial visitors who aren’t... oh, I should say, totally accustomed to our Terran ways.”

Oh god, it is going to be tentacle monsters. He rubbed his bicep protectively. “Yes, though I have to say there are people who are more skilled than I am for that.”

“They cost too much. Plus, transport fees from Europe are ridiculous these days. Finance-free society, my ass. There’s always a cost.”

“So, I’m the budget option.”

“No,” she sighed. “You’re the sensible option. A little cheaper, sure, but I also need somebody that isn’t going to stick out like a sore thumb. No accents, no weird tastes for coffee, that sort of thing. A regular guy. By the way, are you one of those sensitive artist types? Need time to prepare and all that?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good, good. Because I really don’t have time for that kind of bullshit. This job is coming up pretty quick.”

“How quick, exactly?” His hand fell from his arm and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

The Boss nodded. She leaned in across the desk, as if she were sharing a secret. “There’s a transport coming in at 0800 tomorrow, Missoula center. I need you in the area for a few weeks, doing reconnaissance work. Nothing active as of now, but I need intel. Also, someone to take action on a couple of individuals if necessary.”

She slid the file over to Franklin, who picked it up and began to flip through it. “A couple of students doing... biology fieldwork? How is this interesting to you?”

“Well, I can’t tell you everything, of course. But, word has it that these guys aren’t quite native. Take a look at where they’re coming from.”

“Utopia Planitia yards.”

“Little unusual for a couple of boys from France, right? Even more funny when you notice the number of Vulcans that have been going through the place lately.”

Franklin nodded slightly. This was getting a little bigger than he would like, but he had the sinking feeling that he was already in way too deep just by virtue of being in that office. This did not seem like an operation that would allow him to exit quietly, and with his skin intact. 

The Boss kept talking, either ignoring or completely missing the worried tangle of Franklin’s eyebrows.

“Something big is happening. I mean, what are the Vulcans supposed to be doing, using the shipyards as a hub? And it’s not just Federation ones. Those green-blooded little weirdos are coming from all over. Including,” and here she tapped the desk, “the Vulcan Science Academy.”

Franklin paused, feeling like he should say something. “Uh... okay. Um, yeah. That’s... weird?”

“We have no idea what goes on at that Academy. Hardly any humans get onto the planet, much less into one of their most prestigious centers of learning. They’re so close-lipped about that place, and then they start flowing through our airspace? I don’t know, but if it’s big, I want a hand in it. I’m - we’re done with this rinky-dink operation. Getting in on something major could either make us a lot of money or get us some legitimacy through goodwill. At least an arms transport contract.”

“So, my job is to just watch these two?”

“These are the first of them to actually transport down to the planet, instead of to the moon or an orbital station. Could be they’re making their first move. Anyway, there’s more information in the file there. Start reading. I can’t let you leave the room with it, for obvious reasons.”

A few minutes later, Franklin left the office with a credit card and a transport pass in his jacket pocket.

The Boss leaned out of the doorway. “No more than 500 credits a week, okay? I’m not running a charity operation.” Franklin nodded. She leaned out a little further, making eye contact with Meathead. “Make sure Franklin here gets back to his apartment to pack, then to the nearest transport center. I want him in the town by 0600 tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Meathead said, as Franklin managed the last few steps. “You heard her.”

**Author's Note:**

> For deadonarrival, because of birthday reasons.


End file.
